


A Ribbon to Steal

by raiyana



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Midsummer, Rohan, Rohirric culture and customs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiyana/pseuds/raiyana
Summary: A reluctant attendee at the Midsummer Festival in Edoras catches the eye of an unexpected admirer...Written for Shinramses, Tolkien Secret Santa 2019
Relationships: pre-Elfhild/Théoden
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15
Collections: Tolkien Secret Santa 2019





	A Ribbon to Steal

“Please, Elfhild.”

Elfhild sighed, looking up at her father’s anxious face.

“I don’t need a new dress yet,” she protested, “Alvilda does.” Alvilda had grown a good handspan since last year, leaving her skirts dangling far above her ankles even though Elfhild had let the hem down as much as she could.

But she knew why he wanted her to look pretty.

Midsummer’s Eve… and the Queen had invited them to Edoras to take part in the festivities there; a far cry from their small collection of farmsteads in the Westfold.

Some years they had gone to Helm’s Deep to celebrate there, but she had been to Edoras only a few times in her life, and Elfhild was not looking forward to the celebration. The Queen’s court was very much Stongingland – no surprise, if she was fair, as Queen Morwen had been born and raised there, and so had the princesses and Prince Théoden – and Elfhild knew whatever dress she could make would be too simple for their tastes by far.

She sighed.

“I could make something of the green linen,” it was the colour of Rohan, and she knew she looked good in green, even though she had heard the Queen disliked the colour, “and Alvilda… I’ll hem a strip of cloth to her blue dress, I suppose – she’ll be modest, at least.”

“I knew you’d have a good idea,” Elfstan smiled. “Just like your mother.”

* * *

In the end, though the green dress was simple, she had embroidered a small border of flowers around the wide collar and down the arms. Her hip-belt – an heirloom from her mother – completed the ensemble and Elfhild had felt very pretty when she tried it on at home before they rode for Edoras.

She felt far less pretty when she saw the ladies there, the sense of Midsummer revelry already in the air despite the hour of the morning.

The ladies of the King’s House _sparkled_. Gems of all colours, gold and silver thread working into brilliant patterns gleamed in the sunlight as father accepted the welcome cup from the Queen’s hand, his shoulders as tight as her own felt.

“Westú hal, my Queen,” he greeted, dismounting to bow to her before greeting the King.

“Welcome to Edoras, Alderman,” Queen Morwen replied graciously, and Elfhild was distracted by the youngest Princess offering her own welcome cup, feeling a curious sense of unreality at the sight of her glittering hair ornaments; her own hair was kept in sensible braids close to her head, decorated only with a snatch of green ribbon.

The Princess – Théodwyn, it must be – smiled when she took the cup, stepping back beside her sisters.

 _Hold your head high_ , she told herself, dismounting with ease and leading her mare into the stables, _you are the daughter of Alderman Elfstan. You’re not a simple milkmaid, even though your dress isn’t as grand as a Princess’ and you’d never be able to decorate your hair with gold and gems._

Forcing her fingers away from the curves of her dark plaits, Elfhild focused on settling her beloved mount, humming an old dancing song under her breath as she got to work with the comb and brush.

* * *

She was a guest, surely – Mother had invited absolutely every young lady of any standing to Edoras in an attempt to sway him towards a Gondorian bride, though Théoden knew he wasn’t supposed to have realised that last part – singing to her horse, a lovely grey mare, as she worked.

Dark brown hair had been braided around her head, a bit of green ribbon woven among the strands, but it was the single curl determined to escape down her neck that made him smile, leaning against the stable wall as he watched her work and sing.

A lovely voice, that Rohirric lilt he’d come to love since they moved to Edoras caressing each syllable of the song, lost to the world although her mare noticed him, blowing a huffy breath in his direction. Grinning, Théoden followed the obvious command; the Meara mare was as beautiful as her mistress and spirited by the looks of her.

Whistling, he walked towards the door, wondering if he could steal her ribbon during the games; winning a forfeit from a woman who rode such a horse would be a fitting way to meet her.

And perhaps ask her to dance…

Yes, he decided, tossing a small summer carrot to his own feisty stallion in passing, the girl with the green ribbon was one he’d have to find at the festival.


End file.
